


The Light Will Find You

by Anonymous



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e06 Bastogne, Episode: s01e07 The Breaking Point, First Kiss, Gene needs sunlight, M/M, Magical Realism, Mild Hurt/Comfort, small mention of hurt animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: His mother had explained the secret to him, over and over while she petted his hair and rubbed his back... She had explained that his power wasn’t without faults, and that he should understand that he would not be able to save every creature in his path. Sometimes, she had explained, he would have to let go. "But do not fear, when all is dark, the light will find you."Eugene Roe has a gift, but it requires sunlight, something that is severely lacking in places like Bastogne, Belgium in winter. Joe Liebgott figures out a way to help, and sparks a curious sort of relationship between them.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/Eugene Roe
Kudos: 2
Collections: Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange 2021





	The Light Will Find You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> I hope you like this rare pairing - magical realism isn't my forte, but it worked well with the line "Just someone trying to do something soft for Roe would be great," so I went with it. Happy Reading!
> 
> Thank you very much to my betas, who saved me and got me on the right track.

Eugene Roe was from the very warm, very sunny Bayou Chene region of Louisiana. He had spent his youth shoeless, dressed mostly in just his cut off shorts. He had chased rabbits and had run-ins with alligators. It had all suited him quite nicely. 

When, on his twelfth birthday, his mother had explained his special gift, he had been open to the possibilities. His powers weren’t very strong, even at the age of 20, but they allowed him to help his grandmère when she needed him. She could fix the ailments people couldn’t see, but he could fix the things that were visible. He had started with paper cuts on his hands, using his gift to stitch the skin back together until there was nothing but a faint scar. 

His mother had explained the secret to him, over and over while she petted his hair and rubbed his back, that time he’d tried and failed to save an animal he had come across while taking shelter during a rainstorm. She had explained that his power wasn’t without faults, and that he should understand that he would not be able to save every creature in his path. Sometimes, she had explained, he would have to let go. 

She had also explained that he was not allowed to mention his gifts to others. What their family could do didn’t carry a name, so they could never be labeled. His grandmother’s abilities were wound up with religion, and there they would stay. There was fear in her voice during the discussion, as she told him of his family’s legacy and why they resided in the bayou. 

It was also true that, in the absence of sunlight, the power would dim. This was not something that needed to be explained, but experienced. A hurt he could have easily healed on a sunny day became much more tedious when it rained or in the middle of the night.

“Stay in the light,  _ mon ange _ ,” she had whispered to him. “But do not fear, when all is dark, the light will find you.” 

She had repeated those words many times since that day, and although he understood the point of the first, she had never explained the second and he had been too afraid to ask. 

When war had come, and he found that he could send home extra by signing up for the paratroopers, an elite division that would need skilled medics, he didn’t think twice. And when the questionnaire came around, he had filled in his medical expertise, but left out his gift. People outside the bayou, outside his family, questioned those powers, tainted their goodness. So he’d kept quiet and learned how to repair people with bandages, calm them with words, keep them alive until they could get to an aid station. If some of them got there with less serious injuries than they’d started with, so be it.

For the most part, during Toccoa, Eugene learned how to mesh his power and the first aid knowledge that the army gave him. Bullet wounds were a bit different than what he was used to, as the damage could extend beyond what he could, reasonably, fix. But sulfa and morphine and bandages became his friends, knowing that he was there to provide the men with whatever he could until they could get to the professionals. 

The sun was as strong in Georgia as it had been at home, and he wrote his Mama often with worries that Europe would not be the same.  _ You’d have been better suited to be trained in New York, at least there you’d get a better idea  _ was all she had said on the matter. The difficulty when it was so sunny was in figuring out how  _ not _ to use his gift. Its power fought him when Luz came to him with a cut across his hand, and when the boys complained of blisters he could so easily heal. 

Toccoa also became a place where their company bonded into a fully cohesive unit, where he began to fall into the rhythms of the men he’d fight beside. Chuck could be stern, but his laugh took over his entire being; Luz was quick with a clap on the back and an impression that always cut through tension like a knife. Then there was Joe Liebgott, whose wit was knife-sharp and in abundant supply. 

Gene liked and appreciated every one of them, they were solid soldiers who he trusted, but Gene never felt as though he was part of the group. The first thing he was taught was not to get attached as it might make his work more difficult. As a man who was used to the tight-knit family and friends of his home, it took some getting used to. No one was outright mean, they all wanted to be his friends, but he only ever felt comfortable with minimal interactions. The worry that he would fail not only a comrade, but a brother, made his heart feel heavy. 

***

As they readied for the jump into Normandy, Gene sent up prayers both for himself, that he would survive, and for his fellow soldiers. He prayed they would land safely, that any hurts they had would be mendable, and most of all, that the world would be as sunny as possible for this European June. 

He awoke on June 4th and a shiver went through him - the fog was so thick he could cut it in his hands, and the sun was anything but direct. Their landing had been planned as a night jump, but he had hoped to at least garner some sort of energy from the days leading up. Closing his eyes, Gene thought through his personal procedures over and over again, his mind focusing on how to do things when he was, potentially, giftless. 

As the jump was postponed, and the sun peaked out the next day, his heart lightened. This would be D-Day, of that he was sure. It would be a night jump, but if he stood in the sun for as long as possible on the tarmac until he had to get in the plane, it would last him overnight. He knew he would need it. Eugene would need some combination of sheer luck, his gift, and his affinity for medical training to keep anyone he could from bleeding out. A glimmer caught in his eyes and pierced into his soul as he boarded the plane. 

Then, before he knew what had happened, the green light came on and he did what he was trained to do, and could do nothing more than hope as he floated toward the ground. He bent and rolled and cut himself out of his ‘chute, looking for any silhouettes he recognized. The first friendly face he saw was Liebgott, and his heart gave an unfamiliar lurch as they clasped hands quickly. 

“What the fuck was in those air sickness pills, Doc?” was all Liebgott said before turning to move out toward St. Marie du Mont, which they both assumed was vaguely west. Roe broke off almost immediately when they arrived, after a harrowing trip through the dark, to help at the aid station, and didn’t see Liebgott again until the march to Carentan, the dawn of which broke beautifully sunny. He felt the gift ebb and flow between night and dark, as he mended wounds and soaked up sunlight. 

He had never felt this level of ebb and flow, the imbalance of which was threatening to make him sick. Tilting his face to the light, he could feel the power in his soul stretch all the way to his fingertips, only to flow away once more like a tide when approached by yet another exhausted or wounded man. He laid his hands on everything from bullet wounds to broken fingers. 

When Lieutenant Winters took a ricochet, he didn’t notice Gene’s extra work stitching his bullet wound back together. Gene made sure to mention twice that it was a ricochet, merely a flesh wound, and that it should heal quickly if he could stay off it. He hadn’t managed to fully heal it, because the man wouldn’t sit still long enough to work on him, but Gene had at least managed to begin the process. 

Two nights later, when Smith stabbed Talbert seven times in the middle of the night, Eugene had felt his heart jump into his throat. There was some healing left in his fingertips, since summer in France had so much sun, but not much. When he fell to his knees in front of Talbert, it was Liebgott who looked up into his face and reassured him. 

“Says he can breathe. I don’t think Smith hit anything major.” Liebgott had taken a breath of his own at that point, exhaling a quiet “Fuck” into his hands. The man was such a good fighter, but would have made just as good a medic. Gene laid his fingers over each of Talbert’s wounds, allowing his powers to soak in just a little bit before securing the bandages and hauling him off the front line. 

***

Seated at the table in the mess hall in Aldbourne, listening to Smokey’s rendition of “The Night of the Bayonet,” Liebgott leaned over and made the kind of comment Gene had hoped not to hear, in a tone that made the hairs on his neck stand. 

“Tab made it back in record time from seven stab wounds.” 

Gene only pulled his eyebrows further down in response. He’d learned not to engage in that kind of talk. But Liebgott wasn’t done. 

“Impressive is all. And I heard Blithe’s at the hospital and he’s gonna be okay too.” At that Gene’s heart beat double time. He had felt his power washing away as he tried to stymie the bleeding that day. 

“Glad to hear it,” Gene replied, turning to face his food, hoping he wouldn’t give anything away. 

“You’re good at your job, Doc. That’s all.” Liebgott finally nudged his arm, and then pushed over to make room for Malarkey, settling in close enough that their arms stayed touching. “Glad you’re on our side.”

Gene finally looked up just as Smokey finished his poem, watched as Joe’s face lit up with laughter at whatever joke Malarkey was making. He turned back toward Gene, smile resting easily on his face. That smile did something strange to Gene. First, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Liebgott really smile like that. Not around him. It felt a little bit like a shimmery reflection of the sunlight of his southern youth, like what it might feel like standing in the shade at the edge of a lake on a hot summer day. The rain and chill outside suddenly didn’t matter as his chest filled with, not quite a flicker of power, but something to that effect.

He’d never felt that from a person before; it was as though Liebgott’s smile alone could soothe his soul, maybe restore his gift, but the thought seemed a bit crazy. He chalked it up to exhaustion and the field maneuvers they’d been doing since they’d returned to England. Or maybe all the healing would eventually drive him crazy. Either way, there was comfort in knowing that they hadn’t lost everyone, and that Liebgott -- a man he could trust on the line, and maybe elsewhere -- was still around. 

\---

After countless near deployments, Holland was a sunny, exhausting surprise. The resistance they were met with was not what they had expected, and Gene was once again called upon to heal more than he conceivably could. Once they finally set up on The Island, the company ended up spread so thin that he never knew when someone might come running in, shot, wounded, injured. He tried his best to hold onto his power, with the sun finding him while he walked around on his rounds or through windows while stocking the aid station. He wondered idly how many more casualties Easy would have if it weren’t so sunny.

The day after Alley got hit with shrapnel and first platoon took on the herculean task of facing off with an entire platoon of SS by themselves overnight and into the morning, Doc was carted out to the battlegrounds to tend to anyone who needed him. Almost all of the men that had gone out were still milling about, and the sun shone down as he laid his hands on countless wounded. 

As he broke away from Webster’s complaints of pretense and pain to bring Winters his coffee, Liebgott’s gaze met his own. His smile was nowhere near his face, and Gene instead felt an emptiness where there once had been flickers of light. 

Later that same day, the sun was filling him up and getting into his eyes as groups of soldiers filed into the aid station with wounds ranging from mild to serious. There was never enough time to fully fix them. Never enough energy or power, Always people watching. Gene wished he could help more, but that was just the job. He was finishing patching Lesniewski when he caught Liebgott out of the corner of his eye. 

He’d come back from their dangerous mission with a bandage on his neck that was covered in blood. Gene remembered from the night before, seeing Joe grab a bandage and tie it around his neck, but had been far too preoccupied trying to push as much healing into Alley as he could. He hadn’t looked good, but when they were through with him he was stable and being transported out.

Liebgott was stubborn, but finally let Gene look at his neck, sliced by shrapnel the night before, he assumed. His whole demeanor was tight and tense, like more than the pain was bothering him. There was still no sunlight or power spiralling from him, and it worried Gene. Where before, his smile had made Roe feel the same way sunlight did, this felt like dark emptiness. A vacuous lack of light. He wanted nothing more than to make the man feel better.

“Doc, it’s fine, just bandage it. They need me.” Liebgott barked, trying to stand up, but Gene refused to let Joe treat him like Winters did. Unless he was going to cure blindness, he would stay there and allow Gene to fully tend his wounds.

“Doc Bryan thinks you should be sent off the line for this one, Joe.” He laid his hand on Joe’s shoulder, squeezed once, tried to imbue him with some calm, tried to funnel the sunlight that beat down on them into Joe’s soul. Gene felt it when the man began to relax, shooting a brief look up into his face, so he went back to work. “Let me see what I can do.”

The cut was deep and jagged, from both the shrapnel and from the lack of proper bandaging the night before. It was caked in dirt and sweat, and Gene had to clean the wound before he could get a good look at it. Then he tilted his head toward the window, breathed in all the happiness and energy filtering in with the sunlight, thought of home and his grandmère, and then focused on Joe’s neck, watching the skin stitch itself back together, slowly but surely. When it looked as though the cut would heal, he quietly bandaged it and sent Joe on his way. 

The next day, they crossed paths again on Liebgott’s way to an outpost. 

“I thought you were headed off the line?” Gene asked, curious about what had happened, but at least getting less of that empty, blank feeling from him. 

“Nah, they said it wasn’t as deep as they thought, sent me back here.” Liebgott smiled a little before adding, “said I was fine.” He shrugged his shoulders briefly, and then bumped Gene’s arm before walking off. Gene wondered whether Liebgott was adding these things together, thinking back to Talbert and Blithe and numerous other cases of serious injuries becoming less life threatening under his careful scrutiny. Wondered whether that the connecting of the dots would lead Liebgott anywhere fruitful. 

***

As autumn and winter began to descend in Mourmelon, and the air got cold, Eugene began to worry. Europe was further north than where he grew up. There were seasons in Louisiana, but they hadn’t experienced cold like in Europe, nor snow or this lack of daylight. 

In Aldbourne and France in the summer, there had been endless sunlight, which, as his grandmère had explained to him, meant almost none come winter. By December they’d be lucky to have eight hours of sun per day. At home he never really got less than ten. And it would be indirect at best. 

He squeezed his fists and shook them out; he still had his training, and the experience he’d gained in their first two jumps. The boys would make it. He’d help them. They had to. They kept being told that the next move would be into Germany, but wouldn’t happen for months. So he took solace knowing he maybe wouldn’t have to tend battle wounds. Unfortunately, those thoughts were interrupted by men barging into movie night and ordering them to pack up and head out to the front. 

He would remember that ride for the rest of his life. He hadn’t even had the chance to make peace with the next move before he was climbing into the back of a troop transport. They had no supplies, no ammo, no winter gear. As Liebgott complained about having to pee, and Muck joked about having socks for all his extremities, Gene sat quietly on the bench, once again going through his training in his mind. 

He closed his eyes and tried to find some strength within himself. When he looked up, Liebgott gave him a wink and a small smile. He felt the flicker, but it wasn’t enough. Squeezing his eyes closed, he added his confusion over his body’s reaction to that small gesture to the rest of the things he was worried about, closed them in a box in his mind, and tried to rest.

Bastogne was worse than he’d imagined from the moment they jumped off the backs of the trucks. There was no shelter from the never ending cold, and the fog set in and never seemed to lift. Not only did his soul feel completely empty, he was also starting to feel horribly disoriented. Every time he tried to find 3rd battalion he ended up lost, wandering in the woods. 

They spent weeks in the frozen hell of Bastogne, and Gene slipped further and further into oblivion. Trips into the town to get meager supplies helped, the few days of sunlight helped, but it was never enough. The men just kept falling, and bleeding, and everything had been empty. He hadn’t even been able to find the source of Hoobler’s bleeding before it was too late. 

He was squatting, back against a tree, which seemed to be his new favorite place to rest, trying not to lose it once again when Liebgott approached slowly. He handed him a coffee, standing back up to leave, but instead of turning around he planted his feet and huffed out a breath

“I know what you are, you know.” Gene looked up from the bandages he was fiddling with, trying to come up with a plan of how to get through everything, how to get through this line of questioning. It had only happened once before, with a boy from home who had watched him save a bird with a broken wing. That boy had been sent away with his stoney stare, this one would be too.

“What am I, Liebgott?” Gene asked, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead, trying not to show his fear. 

“When I got to the aid station, they wanted to send me back to England for that neck wound. England. To the fucking hospital, Doc.” Gene watched Liebgott’s hands flex. “And when I showed up an hour later, there wasn’t anything to be fixed.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t as bad as they thought. Neck wounds bleed a lot.” He finally trained his eyes on the other man’s face. Saw how it turned darker. 

“You think I’m stupid? Fuck.” He almost spat it, like maybe he was more angry about being thought stupid than about what powers Gene Roe may or may not have possessed. 

“Liebgott, I know you ain’t stupid. But it is what it is, okay?”

“Doc. Are you even surviving out here?” His face became almost soft at those words. Gene had never seen Joe look like that. “I can see you fading.”

Gene looked up at that. At the meaning those words were meant to carry. They were all fading. They were cold, and hungry, and had spent weeks unsure if the next wave of German artillery would bust straight through their lines. But that wasn’t what he’d meant. 

“My mother told me about your kind,” Liebgott continued, in explanation. “Something about our family coming from a long line of those who can, I don’t know, help. It all seemed stupid to me, but my fuckin’ sister got into it.”

“Help?” Gene whispered, sure he looked as confused as he felt. 

“Yea, Doc. Help. I’m pretty sure our time here in this forest is almost through, we’re going to need you when we attack Foy, and I can feel that your wells are running low.”

“Wells?”

“Doc. I don’t know what you call them. Your wells. The shit. Your fucking power?”

“But how do you…” Gene’s voice drifted at that, unsure of what to say or do, worried that he’d been found out by an extremely unlikely source. He suddenly realized that maybe just like he’d felt Joe, Joe could feel him right back.

“Fuck, I can’t explain it, okay? Just grab your shit and come with me. I don’t even know if this’ll work.”

So Gene followed Liebgott away from their position, staying parallel to the line so as not to stumble upon any Germans. Joe stopped at a spot that was between their company and what he assumed should be D company, although he certainly couldn’t see anyone. 

Before he could open his mouth to ask why they had suddenly stopped, Joe was manhandling him into a spot in the middle of four short, mangled evergreens and stepping back. Then he smiled and tipped his face to the sky, and suddenly Gene felt it. Warmth just on the backs of his ears. He closed his eyes and revelled in it, before finally turning and opening them to look up between the trees. There was a halo of the sun’s rays coming down from heaven, just for him.

Looking around, he saw the fog dissipating around him, washing around his feet, refusing to rise any higher. Above was a spot of pure blue sky. Before he could consider it further, the sunlight suddenly poured energy onto him. He worried for a moment that he might be seen, it all felt so bright. Then the warmth overtook him, and his fear abated, left in the shadows created by the sun’s rays. His shoulders rolled of their own accord, releasing weeks of tension as he exhaled and turned his face fully toward the light. 

The chuckle came a few seconds later. Finally pulling his face away from the warmth, Gene looked over at Liebgott, standing in semi-darkness in comparison, laughing at him. Gene could only shrug. Liebgott’s face got a little brighter then, the surprise lifting and leaving behind his crooked smile. Gene felt as though years of drudgery were suddenly lifted from his shoulders. LIke he could finally breathe. He knew it was the sunshine, but wondered if a small part of it was this one bond he had been willing to afford himself.

“I knew it.” Liebgott just continued to chuckle, as Gene tipped his head once more toward the sky, hands out as if to absorb every last ray. “Even in the dark, the light will find you, right?”

Hearing those words echoing through his mind, from the unlikeliest of sources, brought tears to his eyes. As the power twisted once more around his soul, he sighed and then stepped out of the light and back toward Liebgott. Almost as soon as he left the circle of light, it faded, and the fog rolled back in to take its place. He didn’t immediately feel cold, though, instead his body held onto the warmth of that sunlight that had found him. 

When he reached Joe, he wasn’t sure what to do, how to say thank you, or what exactly the man wanted from him. So instead he merely stood there, eyes trained softly on the soldier, who was staring back at him, smiling. Then Gene took two steps and threw his arms around him. He could feel that sunny power radiating off of Joe, pinging back and forth between them, and he hung on for a few more elusive moments before finally letting go.

“My sister’s gonna give me shit for this when I get home,” he said, throwing an arm haphazardly around Gene’s shoulders and half dragging him back to their position on the line. “She was wrong about some of it though.” 

Gene wanted to ask, but instead stayed silent the entire way back, trying to figure out how this whole thing had come to pass, but thanking his stars that it had. Liebgott dropped him back at his foxhole, squeezed his shoulder, and walked away. Just like that, with not even a word spoken. 

“What was all that about?” Spina asked, digging around once again in his medic bag. Since they’d been resupplied, Spina had taken to organizing and reorganizing his now full medic bag, as though he was so excited to have things in it he was never happy with not being able to see everything all at once. 

“Liebgott needed to show me something’s all. There’s another hole in our line.”

“Why’s that our problem? Somebody get shot over there?” Spina laughed at his own joke, and Gene joined in, hoping it would distract from the fact that he had no reason to follow Liebgott anywhere but to get grub. 

The feeling the sunlight had given him would have to last him, and he could already feel his powers slipping into dormancy once more. He wished there was a way to bottle the sunlight, drink it like an elixir when he was lonely and powerless in the middle of the night. He could lean on this newfound light that Joe provided, but he wasn’t sure how long the powers garnered would last, nor was he sure about what it took from Joe. He was thankful anyway, even if for just having been seen. 

That thought suddenly thrilled and terrified him. Joseph Liebgott had seen him. He knew what Gene was. Even if he would only admit to cursory secondhand knowledge, it still meant that he had enough information to save Gene or ruin him. But it also meant that someone…  _ understood. _ And maybe even could help. Had helped. His reaction to Joe’s smile back in Aldbourne made sense. Now he only wished for more of it.

Unfortunately, they were still stuck in the cold, in the winter in Bastogne, and with the reinforcements and constant movement Gene hadn’t been able to ask Joe for help again, wasn’t even sure Joe would be willing anyway. Gene hadn’t even thought to ask what it took out of the man, harnessing the sunlight like that. 

When that last terrible barrage had taken so many of their men, and he’d sat with Toye and Guarnere for what felt like hours, trying to mend them and keep them stable, he could actually feel the moment that his gift simply… shut off. It was worse for knowing now that it may never end. The siege had been broken and still they remained. 

A few nights later, when he’d heard mutterings about the upcoming attack on Foy, and their movement further into enemy territory, Gene’s mind, his very soul, turned in on itself. He was worried. They were running through an open field, with a Lieutenant who was not fit for the role, and he was running on empty.

What had Liebgott said? His wells were low? That was, come to think of it, exactly how he felt. Like the well inside his soul had not even a drop of water left. Where there should be power there was emptiness. He bowed his head and, realizing how quiet his foxhole was, distracted himself wondering where Spina had gone. 

The footsteps that approached were too quiet to be his medic friend, his head jerking up in fear. 

“Relax, Doc. It’s just me,” Liebgott whispered as he rolled gracefully into the foxhole. This long out here, they were all finally learning how not to kick each other in the head during the descent. 

“Liebgott, you okay? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Doc. Everything’s just fuckin dandy, can’t you tell?”

“Yeah Joe,” Gene responded, with his mouth still hanging open a little, unsure of why the man was in his foxhole this late, but happy to have someone to share warmth with. Which is exactly what Liebgott did. He sidled up, grabbing Gene’s blanket from where it had been stuffed and throwing it over both of them.

“Can’t stay long, night watch starts soon, but you looked like you might need heat.”

“Uh, thanks. The uh… the wells are low again, so I don’t feel great.” It was the first time he had spoken of his gift to anyone but his own family.

At that, Joe lifted an arm and threw it around Gene’s shoulders, hugging him to his side. It was a confusing gesture, but at that point Gene really didn’t want to deny it either. Joe was warm, and he soaked that warmth up as much as he could. Joe tried to get as much of himself touching Gene’s side as he could, sliding sideways so his torso, thigh, all the way down to his calf was giving Gene the heat he needed. Much like his smile in Aldbourne, when that heat was trained on Gene it felt divine. Almost sacred.

“Can I ask you something?” Gene finally whispered into the cold night. 

“You can ask, sure,” was Liebgott’s fitting answer, as he moved once again to find more spaces to fill with his heat along Gene’s body.

“What’d it take out of you?” Gene paused, unsure how to even ask his question. “The sunshine. You tired or anything?” 

“Nah, Doc. Don’t worry ‘bout me. My sister warned me it would drain me, but it didn’t. Can’t wait to tell her she was wrong. Or maybe it’s just you, fuck if I know.”

Knowing that, knowing he wasn’t taking from the man, it seemed second nature to burrow in, tuck himself as far into Joe’s warmth as he could. So Gene carefully placed his head down on Liebgott’s shoulder, and tried to get a little closer as he continued to shiver under the blanket. 

“Shit, Gene, just -- hold on.” Liebgott twisted the blanket, and then himself, muttering curses along the way, and then finally pushing and pulling Gene until they were huddled kind of sideways, with Gene basically in Joe’s lap. Joe’s entire front was plastered against his back, breath on the back of his neck, arm snaked around his middle. Gene wouldn’t have admitted it, but it felt nice... to be in that position. If he could’ve gotten closer, he might have.

Instead, they laid there quietly, Gene listening for shells or shots or maybe just footsteps, wondering whether they’d have to jump apart at any given moment, hoping beyond hope that he could have just a little more time like that. There was no power to be gained, but the warmth flowing between them made Gene feel a little less empty. After an indeterminable amount of time, Joe finally sighed, breathing quietly against his neck, and declared he had to go out on his night patrol. 

“Sorry I couldn’t do more. Want me to come back after?” Liebgott asked quietly as he slowly let go and shifted his hips back.

“Thanks but uh, Spina should be back by then. Not sure where he got off to.” The weight of Gene’s eyes was getting to him now, and the sentence was more a slur of syllables than a coherent thought. Joe’s warmth had put him at such ease. Made his heart feel full. 

Joe made a sound like he might say something else, but then just hummed and slid stealthily back out of the hole in the ground. After squeezing Gene’s shoulder and tapping his helmet, he made his way to wherever he was going. 

Scant minutes later, Spina slid less gracefully into Gene’s foxhole, mumbling about something or other with the guys and then mumbling more about the general assumption that they would be taking Foy on one of the next days. Even in the dark, Gene could feel Spina rustling his supplies around in his bag before taking it off and shuffling under the blanket to keep warm. 

Gene finally drifted off, thinking not about the worry of the next day, but of sunlight and glinting smiles and dark hair. 

\---

Sitting in a pew in Rachamps, Gene considered the past few days. They hadn’t lost nearly as many as he’d thought they might, but their numbers had still dwindled, and he felt more tired than he ever had before. Scratching his hands through his hair, he got up, unable to continue to look at how few men remained. He hadn’t been able to help how he’d wanted to. There hadn’t been anything left to give. He had been forced to simply let go.

The plan was to just take a step out the door, maybe have a smoke,collect himself, but instead he found his feet continued down the street, shuffling into what looked like a slightly abandoned apothecary. One foot in front of the other, he paced back behind the counter, through a door, and into the back room. His body then let him go no further, collapsing to the ground in a heap. 

It was from this position that he felt the movement out in the shop. At that point he didn’t even question it, he knew exactly who was advancing almost silently through the space. It should have amazed him how carefully Liebgott could move, considering how characteristically loud and… unavoidable he was most of the time. But silent or not silent, for better or worse, Gene had become aware of the man in ways his mind didn’t understand but his heart accepted. Joe had become the light that found him in the dark.

“Doc, you don’t look so good,” was all he said before leaning his rifle against the wall and crouching down on the floor to put a hand on Gene’s back. 

“Don’t feel so good either, Joe.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Liebgott was moving into the same position they’d been in in his foxhole two nights before they attacked Foy. This time, he didn’t have a night watch. Gene wasn’t sure how long that meant he would stay. He didn’t know how long he wanted him to stay. Once again his mind and heart were not in agreement, but it didn’t matter because Joe had laid down, curling one arm under their heads and the other over his middle once again. 

The change wasn’t immediate, but eventually Gene felt like he could breathe again, like some kind of power, though a tiny fledgling thing, had once again ignited in his belly. It pinged between them, and Joe huffed a laugh against his neck. 

“She never told me it would feel like this.”

“Like what?” Gene mumbled, eyelids heavy. 

“Way she explained it, we’re here to be of use. Always hated the thought of being just a source of power for someone else.” 

“I would never -- “ Gene started, but Liebgott interrupted. 

“Hell, I know. It’s why I offered. Nothing about you that made me think that.”

“So what’s it feel like?”

“Can’t even name it.” Joe nosed along his neck as he spoke, squeezing him tighter as the warmth grew between them. When Gene was silent for long enough, Joe continued. “Fuck. Uh. Feels like summer, maybe. You ever rode down a shady path with your eyes closed? Feels like that.”

Gene finally closed his eyes, thinking about his youth, and the way the lights flickered behind his eyelids as he rode his bike to his grandmère’s house. It had been a good feeling. If that was how the connection made Joe feel, then Gene would stay close as long as he could. He began to drift in and out, feeling brightness fill him from his soul all the way to the tips of his fingers. Although the closeness didn’t fill him with power like the sun did, it calmed his soul. The well was still empty, and he wasn’t sure his gift was there, but he didn’t feel so worn. 

Sleep began to claim him, but when Joe moved as though he might get up, Gene’s reflex was to grab him and not let go. 

“Doc, we gotta get back,” he whispered as he helped Gene up from the floor all the way to his feet. He tilted his chin and whispered a quick “come on” before sliding an arm around him and guiding him toward the door of the apothecary. 

Gene’s eyelids felt too heavy, and the cold was starting to seep in again, so he focused on the arm around him and followed Joe back to the convent. They had to pick their way over most of the enlisted men who had sacked out on the floor and among the pews, not wanting to leave the comfort of each other’s company, or just having no better option for places to sleep. 

“I talked to Winters, they found you a bed,” Joe murmured to him, walking him past the open space and up toward the second story of the building. He opened a door into a tiny room with nothing more than the bed he was promised inside and moonlight pouring through the curtainless window. Gene didn’t hesitate, crawling immediately onto the mattress and curling into himself. It was Joe who went through the trouble of taking his shoes off and pulling the blanket up. 

When he got everything squared away, Gene reached up sleepily, pulling Joe back down onto the bed. He didn’t have to say anything, as Lieb rolled into the position at his back. Unsatisfied with that, Gene turned over, wanting to say something. Do something. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up,” Joe whispered, warm breath caressing his face. 

The only thing Gene could do, then, was to lean up and press his lips softly against Joe’s. He didn’t know why, had never kissed a man, but his heart couldn’t think of another way. He was about to pull away, to apologize, something, when Joe’s hand caressed the side of his face and he deepened the kiss before finally pulling back and tucking Gene against him. 

When morning dawned with the sun beaming brightly enough that he had to squint, he wondered for a moment whether it was the weather or this new bond, before burrowing his face back into Joe’s chest. 


End file.
